


Wouldn't Make Sense

by x_posed_again



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-05
Updated: 2011-08-05
Packaged: 2017-10-22 05:42:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_posed_again/pseuds/x_posed_again
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcus plays an amazing game and Oliver finds a way to reward him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wouldn't Make Sense

Marcus whines; a desperate needy sound deep in the back of this throat and he almost hates himself for it, but dammit if he can't find the ability to give a fuck right now. Not with the way Oliver is slowly tracing a line down the flat plane of the Chaser's hips with his tongue and _oh Merlin_ if it isn't the hottest thing Flint has ever seen and he can't pry his eyes away. Not even for a second.

"Ya, ya," Flint chants out and slowly pushes his hips up, a frustrated growl piercing his lips as he's reminded of just how much fabric currently separates them. Honestly, it wouldn't matter if it was just his boxers against Wood as it would still be too much and he has the sudden urge to reach down and rip away layer after layer until there is nothing left except skin on hot skin. Except, _fuck_ he can't get his hands to work or his brain to process any thoughts after the Keeper looks up and locks eyes with him. All the blue almost completely gone as Oliver's pupils are blown wide and even in the dark the younger man looks absolutely ravished.

"You," Oliver emphasizes the word by ghosting his mouth over the fly of Marcus' jeans as he speaks. "Were a fuckin' beast out there today."

The Keeper's breath is hot and heavy, even seeping through denim, and it's enough to make Flint shake. A heavy rumble that starts from his very core and works it's way up the base of his spine and straight out through his toes. Itchy fingers instantly reach out for dark blonde hair to grab hold of, to latch onto and ground him from the tremors rocking his body.

"Shite, Ol… it was you, all you. Kept us in there." Marcus knows he's talking, he can feel the words leaving his lips but his voice sounds a million miles away when the only thing he can concentrate on is the hard outline of the Keeper's hips against the soft comforter.

He's got it bad. Merlin, Flint is in so deep he wouldn't know where to being… how to start to make his way out even if he wanted to. Something about the way Wood feels next to him; how the Keeper smells like soap and quidditch and something so distinctly Oliver that Marcus finds himself just trying to breathe the other man in and _dammit, he's fucked._

Oliver gently nips at the Chaser's hip before laving his tongue over the angry red skin left in his wake. "You still with me?" He runs his nose along the hard seam down the front of the Chaser's pants and Marcus flat out growls, hips bucking up on their own accord.

"Don't tease," Flint chastises the younger man knowing fully well it won't do a damn bit of good. "Not tonight." He's too amped up. Too much adrenaline and too little sleep on a road trip that has lasted weeks and this win… this win was something they all so desperately needed that Marcus could feel it in his bones. Bones that he's sure he had a few minutes ago, but now have somehow turned to useless gel under his skin.

The Chaser watches as a wide grin breaks out across the Keeper's face and _dammit_ if he wasn't in trouble before he knows he is now as Oliver's thumb gently flicks the button of Marcus' jeans open with an audible click. The sound goes right to Flint's cock causing it to twitch and jump with interest. "Merlin, Wood. Just do it."

The laugh that erupts from Oliver's chest is deep and rumbling, the vibrations against Marcus' hip doing little to quite his nerves and Flint buries his head into the crook of his own arm and fucking _whimpers_. That's right. Oliver _fucking_ Wood has the ability to reduce him to a pile of lose pliant _need_ and he is way past the point of giving a shite and about two seconds away from forcing the Keeper to finally do something when two strong hands wrap into the belt loops of his jeans and tug. Not enough to pull them completely off mind you, but enough so the waistband sits snugly under Flint's balls and it's just this side of uncomfortable, but when Oliver leans in and mouths him through the soft fabric of his boxers his brain all but shuts off.

"Merlin… fuck…" Marcus practically pants the words out as they fall heavy on his tongue as if saying them will free some of the weight he is feeling, allow him just that much more room to think, feel and breathe. There isn't enough space, not enough air in the room for him to suck in and fully fill his lungs as he chants curse word after curse word like a mantra falling from his lips.

Oliver presses his nose into the soft crease where Chaser's leg meets torso before dragging it over Marcus' balls, breath hot and heavy as he leaves a moist trail across fabric. "Couldn't keep my eyes off ya tonight, Marc. Honestly, amazing."

If Flint could find his voice he might laugh at the thought of Wood keeping his eyes on anything other than the quaffle during a game, but he'll take the compliment if it means being repaid for his hard work and effort on the pitch with an extremely eager Oliver Wood.

"Please?" It's not begging because Marcus Flint doesn't beg, but fuck he needs it. Needs to feel the Keeper's hands on him, Oliver's mouth on him, something more than just heat and air and _God dammit_ if he isn't on the edge already and Wood hasn't done much more than ghost over Marcus' cock with his lips, but his body is already humming. "Please."

Oliver's eyes are wide and honest as they glance back up at the older man. His tongue darts out, quickly licking over wind chapped lips and the Chaser can't help but buck up towards the wet heat he knows he'll find there. Instead, he is greeted with the feeling of Wood's T-shirt rubbing gently against his rock hard length and it provides just enough friction that he does it again, not caring how desperate he looks.

"Easy," the blonde places a firm grip on Marcus' hips and pushes him back down towards the mattress. There is humor in Oliver's voice, but Flint, for the life of him, can't figure out what exactly is funny at all about the situation as his cock is already leaking so much precum it's seeping through his boxers.

He would complain about the sticky uncomfortable feel of it, but Oliver is practically licking him through his underwear and suddenly Marcus can't remember what he was upset about. Teeth graze along his length, gentle enough so Marcus knows Wood is trying and hard enough that it causes him to suck his own bottom lip roughly into his mouth just to keep from moaning like some bint.

"Gonna fuckin' cum if you keep that up," and the Keeper obviously doesn't care or doesn't hear as he does it again and Marcus is about two seconds away from creaming his boxers like a fucking teenager. "S-s-stop. Gotta... stop… not _fuck_ not like this… gonna cum in my shorts if ya…"

Wood must finally get the message because he pulls away, just far enough to slowly slip the head of Flint's cock out from under the elastic waistband. Just the head, nothing more and Marcus almost wants to cry until he feels that soft tongue run over his slit, lapping at the taste and then he does cry out. Loud and shaky and when Oliver continues his assault, pushing his tongue along the ridge on the underside of Marcus' cock he's done. Absolutely fucking wrecked and he cums so hard, so suddenly that he has no time to warn the younger man, and it takes him what he swears has to be five whole minutes before he is able to breathe again and a few more past that before he can even begin to formulate words.  
"I think you're trying to kill me, Wood."

Oliver laughs; body clawing its way up until he is perfectly aligned with the Chaser's and presses a hard kiss to the man's lips. "Nonsense. Wouldn't make any bit of sense ta be lookin' for a new Chaser this late in the season."

Marcus can only roll his eyes, the snarky retort quickly dying in the back of his throat the moment he feels Oliver's hips grind down hard into his and ya, it wouldn't make any sense this late in the season.


End file.
